The Fault of Foreigners

I peeled out of the driveway with a 6 wt and deet.  The day was hot and that's always a good sign for the hex hatch.  The sun started to dip low at the end of my 35 minute drive and I considered stomping on the gas and getting worked up about who may be on my beat...but I didn't.   I'm not sure if that means lazy or mellow.

As luck would have it I had the hole stretch to myself.  I took my time rigging and wadering up and then strolled down to my bankside perch to watch and wait.  The bug dope that I found on a back shelf in our kitchen wouldn't spray the advertised fine mist of poison so I beat on the canister until a few drops fell on the back of my hand and then I spread it thinly in the critical areas.

A ruckus upstream made me curious so I parted the eye-high grass and took a walk to see what was happening.
Canadians.
I family/flock of what appeared to be 2 adult geese, 5 juveniles and 4 goslings hugged the far bank and eyed me, but held their ground.  I considered chasing them out so that they wouldn't screw up my water but then figured I'd roll with "the greatest good for the greatest number".  Again, not sure if I am getting lazy or mellow.

Back downstream at my blind of matted grass, I tied on a yellow soft hackle and started to swing through the water in front of me.  On the 4th or 5th swing my rod tip twitched and I successfully landed a 6" creek chub.  I don't ever remember catching a chub here in the past.

I gave the run a dozen more swings until the Hexes started to fly.  They the water in increasing numbers and I marveled at the bird's and bat's ability to pick them out of the sky.   My appreciation started to wane when I realized that though the flying critters were having a feast, the fish were not...at least on the surface.  I switched to a bonefish fly that I have come to use as a passable hex nymph/emerger and worked the water in hopes that a score of 20" browns were munching away below the surface.

Nothing.

It was after plan "B" was in full force that I heard a decided "GULP" amidst the hum of mosquitoes and the fish fed again just as I was leaning into the darkness trying to get a bead on him (or her).  Twenty feet right in front me the concentric rings cleared the bank shadowed surface and betrayed the fish's position in the moonlit creek.

Bingo...target locked.

I quickly retied the hex spinner on the end of my 2x and worked out what seemed to be the right length of line.
"Plop"....drift, drift, drift, drift, drift
"GULP"
I pulled up on nothing but night air.

I pitched again and again and again.  I worked in some mends that I hoped would make the fake look real.  I twitched slightly as the fly crossed the imaginary "X" my mind placed on the water.
But that was it.  The fish, a sizeable one by the sound of it's audible, decided three surface feeding moves was enough for one night. 

I finished out the evening fishing a big sub-surface fly with a heavy split shot through all the deep haunts and never even felt a tap.

I'm gonna blame it on the Canadians.